


Fück më härdër Jäck

by slywining (allagainstjoffrey)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fisting, M/M, torb76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7766653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allagainstjoffrey/pseuds/slywining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter between two old friends turns sensual...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fück më härdër Jäck

**Author's Note:**

> Don't fucking take this seriously, I'm begging you.

Soldier 76, a red white and blue shape patrolling the yards in Hollywood studio, pulse rifle in hand, brows furrowed above dark visor. On the hunt for miscreants. He didn’t notice the small shape in the corner, or perhaps he didn’t want to.

Torbjorn licked the tip of his hammer seductively as he watched Soldier 76.

“Hëllo sëxy,” he rasped.

“Not again, Torby,” Jack hissed, but Torbjorn was already at his side, caressing him with his cool but surprisingly gentle crab arm.

“You’re too much of a man for me,” Jack moaned, leaning into his cool metal embrace, relishing the strength of his arms that were tiny, but thick with so much gorgeous Swedish muscle.

“Nönsënsë,” Torbjorn crooned. “I’m too little of a man for you. I’m sö small. Why, yöu could pröbably just göbble me right up…”

He tried to pinch Jack’s ass between the pincers of his claw, but forgot as he always did that there was nothing there to grab. It was a repressed memory of his, and he manipulated every single sexual encounter they had so that Torbjorn was always on the bottom, and he never had to look at the void that Jack Morrison had in place of an ass.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why nöt?” Torbjorn fluttered his long blonde lashes, and twirled one of the braids of his beard between his remaining fingers.

“You’re small, but you’re not that small.”

“Then fück me, daddy 76.”

Jack looked up to the sky and whispered a quick prayer under his breath.

“Thanks Uncle Sam for this moment.”

Then he ripped off Torbjorn’s thick leather engineering trousers and pulled out the barbecue sauce that he carried everywhere in case he ran into a barbecue in distress, or a situation like this presented itself. He lubed up his corn dog and they began to fuck.

“Jüst a sëcönd, däddy,” Torbjorn grunted. He extricated himself and scrambled for his hammer. Jack took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, smudging the silver strands with brown smears of barbecue. The smell took him back, to hot late nights in the back of the transport ships on the way to missions, brushing hands together over dinner with the rest of the overwatch crew, Torbjorn licking his toes and sucking his dick in every nook and cranny of Watchpoint Gibraltar. The rest of the overwatch crew had known about their relationship, and gave them knowing looks, and were suspiciously absent whenever they emerged from whatever cupboard after one of their sessions. Then again, Torbjorn made enough noise to wake the dead, so they probably all got as far away as possible as soon as they heard the first faint croons of “räw më, däddy” in a thick, sensuous accent. No, Jack reflected, watching Torbjorn smash together a turret, his time in Overwatch hadn’t been all bad.

The turret sex. How had he forgotten the turret sex?

Torbjorn reclined on top of it, stroking the shaking metal with the curve of his crab claw. Even though he was small enough to fit easily on the top of the wildly vibrating turret, the motion of the turret’s constant spinning threatened to throw him off. At least the turret’s gun was disabled. Jack was vividly dragged back to one wild night in Dorado when Torbjorn’s attack turrets had still been set up, and they both completely forgot that -

“Däddy,” Torbjorn purred. He was, to be perfectly frank, a little put out that Jack wasn’t paying to his dear _liten_ Vorebjorn. The light came back into Jack’s eyes and he ripped off his thick red gloves, revealing pale white hands that hadn’t seen the light of day since - he calculated - the last time he saw Torbjorn, probably, if the inside of Torbjorn’s ass counted as daylight.

Torbjorn trembled with excitement, and from the turret, as Jack unzipped his jacket to reveal his blinding white chest. Torbjorn pulled his welding visor down to protect his remaining eye, although he was a little too slow and his vision filled with spots in the afterglow. Jack opened the bottle of barbecue sauce again and slathered his hand thickly with it. The bitter tang made Torbjorn’s dïck get as hard as the metal of his bright red crab arm, which coincidentally was the exact same colour.

Jack thrust his hand deep into Torbjorn’s molten core and the fisting began. Sharing his elation, the engine on his back shot out jets of flame in time with Jack’s thrusts.

“Öööööööhhhh…. fück më härdër Jäck…”

“Don’t call me Jack,” he grunted. He thrust harder and made Torbjorn scream, and bust his nuts all over the turret. Torbjorn sighed in elation, but he was a fair lover, and he rolled over and gently sucked off Jack as well.

“God bless America,” Jack sighed, when he finally came, and Torbjorn drank up all of it.

Torbjorn rolled off the turret, tried to hook his arm around Jack’s shoulder, which was only within his reach because Jack was leaning against the wall in the aftermath of his orgasm. Jack shrugged it off.

“Whät’s wröng, _ä l_ _skling?_ ”

“Don’t call me that,” Jack mumbled. He scrambled to his feet and pulled his jacket back on, facing away from the small naked man. Trying to ignore the heat suddenly burning in his cheeks. Torbjorn’s eyebrows bristled, and he twisted the end of one of his beard plaits between two thick fingers.

“Sö it’s göing tö be like thät, huh.”

Jack’s shoulders tensed, but when he spoke his voice was cold hard steel.

“Overwatch is over, Torbjorn.”

“It döesn’t häve tö be. Nöt for us.

Jack - Soldier 76 - hefted his pulse rifle over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Torbjorn.”

Torbjorn watched him stride off, watched his familiar long, lean shape vanish amidst the shadows of the tall wooden facades.

“ _Hejdå…”_

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> TL notes:  
> liten = little  
> älskling = term of endearment, equivalent to darling, honey  
> hejdå = goodbye  
> Thanks to Ehren for the translations! You absolute ledge.


End file.
